Lettice had to speak now, and she spoke.
"If you're afraid of a thing, I should think you'd want to face it and prove to yourself that you aren't."
"Prove to myself that I'm not afraid of prison? But I am!"
"Then that's all the more reason for not running away."
Uncompromising! Lettice, who could bend her supple mind to look through the eyes of tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor or any one else even down to the thief, and could sympathize with all, could not sympathize with Gardiner: could not believe, or even pretend to believe, that cowardice might ever be more expedient for him than courage. It was not so much the immorality of running away, it was the stupidity of it: the fact that he was destroying his own future happiness, making it impossible for himself ever again to live at peace with his own soul. All very well for weaklings to be weak; but Gardiner—she couldn't understand how he could think twice about it! Her dissent was so acute that it made itself felt through all her reticences and evasions. Gardiner stared, his own eyes opening to see his future as she saw it; but he shut them again at once, and willfully turned away.
"Oh, that's idealism," he said, with a short laugh, "and this is a world of compromise. I can't get so high as you. If I'm afraid of a thing, I want quite simply to run away. Talking of which, I'd better be off; it's dark enough now."
He went to the window, and came back. Lettice was sweeping up the crumbs; she moved the nine sovereigns out of her way. Gardiner picked them up and let them slip one by one into his pocket.
"You aren't going to reclaim your loan, then, and force me to face my bogy?"
She shook her head, twice, slowly. Gardiner had singed himself once already at the fire, yet he returned again, fluttering round the dangerous subject. He would have given anything to drag some sort of approval, or even condonation, out of Lettice. It seemed to him that she must be persuaded, if he could only put his case convincingly enough.